


Blue On Blue

by flickerblue (saltnhalo)



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Hank Anderson Saves Connor, The Stratford Tower Chapter (Detroit: Become Human)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-23
Updated: 2020-02-23
Packaged: 2021-02-28 06:00:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 634
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22868995
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saltnhalo/pseuds/flickerblue
Summary: Hank can't get the memory of Connor calling his name out of his head.The Stratford Tower chapter, if Hank had managed to hear Connor in the kitchen.
Relationships: Hank Anderson & Connor
Comments: 11
Kudos: 189





	Blue On Blue

**Author's Note:**

> This is just a short one, but it's another scene that really stood out for me as I played. What if it had gone a little differently?
> 
> Enjoy <3

_“Hank… Hank!”_

Androids don’t feel pain. They’re not programmed to, and it’s not fucking possible. They’re just machines: designed for a purpose, designed to _look_ like a human, but no more sentient than a fucking toaster.

At least, that’s what Hank keeps telling himself, as he sits at Jimmy’s and knocks back drink after drink, trying to forget the sight of blue blood on a blue uniform.

He’d known something had been off—after so many years of police work, he’s developed a sixth sense for it. Connor’s voice, when he’d called out, had sounded weak in a way that Hank had never heard it sound before, and so he’d dropped everything.

There’s no way that Hank could have prepared himself for the sight of Connor collapsed against the benchtop, a knife through his hand and a hole in his chest where his heart should be.

It’s not a heart, he knows rationally, it’s a _thirium pump_ , but still. The effect is the same.

“Holy fuck,” he hears himself say, as though he’s separate from his body and watching all this unfold from a distance—and then his feet are moving, closing the distance to where Connor is pinned and reaching feebly for the knife.

Hank pulls out the knife, and Connor collapses into his arms, but he’s still moving, still clawing weakly at Hank. “Pump,” he rasps, one hand dragging over the gaping wound in his chest. “ _Please_.”

Having an armful of rapidly powering down android doesn’t make things easy, and Hank curses as he drops to one knee, trying to prop Connor up while fumbling around on the ground for the thirium pump. His fingers close around it, cool metal slippery with blue blood, and he presses it into Connor’s outstretched palm. It only takes Connor a second or two to push it back into place and restore himself—and in that moment, he breathes a quiet “Thank you” in which Hank can _hear_ the genuine nature of his gratitude.

And then he’s off, back up on his feet and chasing after the android who had hurt him. Hank had been left holding nothing but empty air—and now he has only the memory to replay over and over, until he drives himself crazy with it.

He downs the rest of his drink and slams his empty glass down with a little more force than he’d intended to. He hasn’t drunk like this since that first night he’d met Connor, but now he just needs… a distraction. Something that’s not the image of Connor seconds from shutting down, scrambling and desperate to save himself like…

Like any human would have been.

Hank still can’t tell if the desperation had just been because the perpetrator was getting away, or if Connor was really truly afraid of shutting down. Of _dying_. He’d been straight back to business (that fucking sense of _duty_ in his program) as soon as he’d been restored, but he’d sounded so scared, looked so desperate.

Fucking androids, looking so much like real people and now _acting_ like real people too. He’d never expected to end up feeling anything at all for Connor, and yet here he is, having saved his life and finding himself slowly warming up to the guy.

 _Machine_. Fuck.

They’re back to work tomorrow, and Hank’s really hoping that he’s going to have his shit sorted by then so that he can look at Connor and see _android_ instead of _person with thoughts and feelings and personality_.

Somehow, though, he doesn’t think that’s going to happen.

“Gimme another,” he mutters to Jimmy, tapping his fingers against the bar. If he’s drunk, he doesn’t have to face his problems, or figure out the tangled mess of his thoughts.

That’s a trick he figured out a long time ago.

**Author's Note:**

> If you liked this, please comment and/or kudos! Thank you for reading <3


End file.
